


Twelve O'Clock News

by cakeisnotpie



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Radio, Humor, M/M, Mack and Leo run the hardware store, Maria and Jasper are good bros, Natasha Is a Good Bro, Phil is pining, Radio DJ Clint, Small Towns, Snark, Steve and Bucky are meddling friends, adjuncting is freakin' hard work, college/university professor, insanely long commute, professor phil, singer clint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-22
Updated: 2020-09-22
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:41:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26367364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cakeisnotpie/pseuds/cakeisnotpie
Summary: Phil Coulson's life is one-fourth teaching, one-fourth worrying, one-fourth insane commute, and one-fourth pining over the sexy voice of the noontime news report.  Well, maybe one-half pining once he knows what the man behind the mike looks like. With some meddling help from friends, he might actually find some happiness in this small town.Written for the 2020 C/C Remix.
Relationships: Clint Barton/Phil Coulson, minor - Tony Stark/Steve Rogers, minor -- Alphonso "Mack" Mackenzie/Leo Fitz, minor -- James "Bucky" Barnes/Natasha Romanova
Comments: 49
Kudos: 202
Collections: 2020 ClintCoulson Remix: Quarantine Edition





	Twelve O'Clock News

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MiladyDragon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MiladyDragon/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Morning Ag Report](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3988099) by [MiladyDragon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MiladyDragon/pseuds/MiladyDragon). 



> Written for 2020 C/C Remix Challenge based upon MiladyDragon's "Morning Ag Report" which goes like this: Every morning, Clint Barton listened to the daily agriculture report on the radio...and it wasn't because he was interested in crop futures. It was more like the sexy voice reading the report that had his attention.

  
  


“... then stay tuned for the news at noon, coming up on SHLD AM, your mountain shield station.” 

The radio crackled with static, picking up a signal again as Phil exited the tunnel. Flicking off his headlights, he slipped his sunglasses back on to stop squinting into the sudden bright light. The Middlesboro City Limit sign flashed by on his right and he braked for the sharp curve before the scrap yard that signaled the beginning of the 35 mile-per-hour zone. Not that he was going that fast; in front of him was an ancient red Chevy truck with a hay wagon attached going all of 25 as it chugged up the two-lane road. He’d been trapped behind it ever since Harrogate with no opportunities to pass thanks to the winding route through the mountain pass. 

He sipped at his coffee -- it was lukewarm at best but caffeine was caffeine -- and rubbed the spot between his eyes that was beginning to pound in time to his heartbeat. Another migraine was brewing, a product of too many late nights trying to decipher students’ handwriting and a storm front that was breaking up on the ridge that loomed behind him. The stress of bills and worries about where the money was coming from to pay them was a constant ache in the back of his neck and line of tension in his shoulders. Keeping busy with all his classes helped him ignore the pit of dread in his stomach, but the long drive gave him too much time to stew, especially the silent parts when the radio cut out and left him alone with his thoughts. He’d absolutely hate the insane commute except for the six minutes at the top of the noon hour when, passing through this small Kentucky town, he could listen to the voice that haunted his dreams … his very, very erotic dreams. 

“It’s high noon here in Bell County and time for the local news.” 

Phil sighed as the dulcet tones filled his far too sensible Honda CRV. Smooth with a hint of smoky rasp at the edges, the voice moved at a slow, leisurely pace with just the hint of an accent. 

“The county commission met last night and, in an unprecedented move, passed the three proposals before them. Yes, folks, all three on one night!”

Another turn and then the road widened to two lanes; Phil started to merge into the left one, almost got hit by a black Ford F-50 that whipped out behind him and zoomed past, then finally had his chance to emerge from behind the hay truck. Instead of getting angry, Phil chuckled, the humor in the man’s voice infectious. 

“They approved spending two hundred dollars to fix the asphalt on the basketball court in Duncreek Park -- the contract went, of course, to Bill Witman’s cousin Seth who just bought a new truck big enough to haul the mixer down there -- voted to allow the First Baptist Church’s Friday Fish Fries to set up outside the old Bailey place, and, in a controversial decision, re-hired the three-time felon Andy Barker as Sanitation Manager. Andy’s second ex-wife, Melinda Henderson, argued against the decision, saying to, quote, “not give the cheating son-of-a-bitch his job back.”

With each new detail, Phil’s grin grew wider. He didn’t mind when he got caught at the first stoplight -- there were three in downtown Middlesboro, the last one added when the new Dollar General Store opened; it was giving the tiny Walmart a run for its money on cheap products from China. Idling as he waited only gave him more time to listen to the voice. 

“In other news, the plans to build a Burger King out by the high school and across from the Taco Casa are on hold once again. Franchise owner Imma Taylor said she missed the filing deadline for a permit because her dog Bartie needed emergency surgery. Bartie is expected to make a full recovery and be back to chasing squirrels soon.” 

Phil wasn’t sure when he’d started dreaming about that voice, the perfect pitch, touch of roughness, and laughter ladened edges. Tongue firmly in cheek, the on-air announcer enjoyed each and every one of the stories; the more outrageous, the more drama he infused into his reading. It was the best part of his really long days, these six minutes of small-town minutiae told in the sexiest drawl Phil had ever heard. 

“And finally, Mayor Walt wants to remind everyone that the farmer’s market is not authorized to sell edibles despite the pending referendum on November’s ballot. State law trumps any local ordinances and weed is still illegal in the great state of Kentucky. So, Pru and Gary, regular brownie mix will have to do until then.” 

With a chuckle, Phil pressed the gas, accelerated past the hay truck, and topped out at 43 mph, three miles over the speed limit, and the fastest he could go without getting caught at the speed trap by the Richie Kreme. As the voice tossed to the weather, Phil flicked off the radio and switched back to The Bad Plus CD, jazz music filling the car. If he was lucky, he’d make it with time to eat his wilted lettuce salad and sad ham sandwich before his first class of the afternoon. With two sections of Western Civs back-to-back, he’d be busy all the way until 5 pm if he didn’t. All he had to do was avoid a … 

The road went back to two lanes and, as he took the curve out of town, he saw a cattle truck and a horse trailer ahead, already gearing down for the steep grade of the mountain. 

So much for lunch. 

* * *

“You look as tired as I feel,” Jasper said. “You still doing those night classes at the hospital in Corbin? Man, that drive over Jellico Mountain in the dark has to be a killer.”

Phil didn’t need to peruse the chalkboard menu to know what he wanted; Dynasty Express had a $5.99 lunch special and it was the only thing he could afford. Between the ancient boiler in the house, the tires he needed for his car, and losing out on that full-time position at Lincoln Memorial University, he needed to save as much as he could. If he told his friend just how tight things were, Jasper would offer to pay, and Phil didn’t want that. He’d made the choice to move back, so he had to live with it. The $6.41 cost was worth it, though, because he really did like the food at this hole-in-the-wall. The serving was big enough to make two meals and Jas always ordered crab rangoons as well as dumplings and an entree, and Phil could snatch some of the extras to make a third. 

“They pay me mileage,” Phil reminded him. “Enough for an extra tank and a half of gas per week.” 

“Yeah, yeah, but the hours are insane.” Jasper eyed the plate of moo shu pork that the server handed over to another customer. “When you get the job here, you can stop doing all that schlepping around and have time to hang out with Mel and me.” 

“If I get it.” Phil was trying not to get his hopes up. Tenure track history jobs were few and far between especially for a specialist in medieval Europe. Jasper’s field of Latin American Studies was booming as was Melinda’s Asian history classes; there were too many people who could teach the Anglo-Saxon Monarchs and the War of the Roses and not enough students who wanted to learn about them. That the University of Tennessee Knoxville had even advertised the job was a surprise; of course, Phil had applied. 

“We’re all pulling for you. Even Garrett put a word in; man’s an ass but he has his uses. Playing golf with the Dean is handy,” Jasper said. “The committee’s behind you.” 

“Doesn’t mean shit if someone higher up wants their choice.” Phil winced at the memory of what had happened at LMU; he’d been teaching as a visiting instructor, practically assured he was first in line when the full-time position opened, only to be pushed aside by a Trustee’s cousin. “More likely they’ll cancel the whole line because of the limited budget.” 

“Down two people and they want us to keep hiring more adjuncts. It’s practically slave labor,” Jasper dropped in the worn groove of an argument. “How are we supposed to assess effectiveness if classes are taught by people working seven jobs just to make ends meet?” 

“Preaching to the choir, Jas.” Phil stepped up to the cashier to order. “I’ll have the daily special, with brown rice and the veggie eggroll. To go, please.” 

* * *

He carried the cardboard box into the store, bell jangling as the door closed behind him. Mack’s Hardware was on the corner of Lafollette's small downtown, all of three blocks around the courthouse. The wooden plank floors creaked but were polished and smooth, the shelves neatly organized and loaded almost to the ceiling with a wide variety of products. Screws and hooks, hammers and fishing poles, lawnmowers, and cookie sheets were all for sale. There might be a Walmart out on the highway, but people still came to the local place because the owner knew how each and every tool in his store worked and gave the best advice. 

“Phil!” Mack looked up as Phil dropped the box on the long counter and dumped the parts out. “Aw, man, it’s the furnace again? Had a devil of a time finding replacements last year. Might be time.” 

“Could you make a few calls, just in case?” Phil knew in his bones that Mack was right, but he had to try; he didn’t have a couple thousand dollars laying around to buy a new boiler unit. 

“Yeah, sure,” Mack agreed as he picked up the spanner. “Leo might be able to jury rig this in the meantime. Not supposed to get cold for the next few weeks but who knows? Let me ask him what he thinks.” 

“I’d appreciate it.” 

Phil watched Mack head into the back where Leo Fitz was working. Like Phil, necessity had brought Fitz to this small town; a serious accident left Fitz needing physical therapy and a long convalescence. Estranged from his family, he’d moved in with friend Jemma Simmons, met Mack, and fallen in love. Phil, on the other hand, had returned to take care of his ailing mother, moving into the small house she’d shared with her previously deceased third husband. Her long bout with breast cancer had wrung dry any money she had and eaten into Phil’s reserves as well. The tiny two-bedroom tract home needed all sorts of fixing up and Phil had never been that handy to start with. 

As Mack went into the back, Phil headed to the weatherproofing section; he couldn’t afford new windows, so plastic and duct tape would have to suffice to keep cold air from leaking in all winter and hopefully lower his heating bills. If he didn’t push the furnace, maybe he could get another year out of it. He skirted around a display of rakes and came to a complete stop. 

Crouched down was the most handsome man Phil had seen in … well, maybe forever. With brown hair, cut close on the sides but longer on the top and blonde streaks on the ends, he was wearing a pair of faded Levis with ripped holes at the knees and a simple black tee-shirt that pulled tight across his muscular chest. His arms were things of beauty, clearly delineated triceps and biceps flexed as he counted through a stack of heavy paper. His scuffed boots were half-untied and he was humming to himself; as he pulled the targets off the shelf, the guy glanced up and Phil nearly fell into the most amazing kaleidoscope of blue and green and grey that were the man’s eyes. They literally sparkled as he smiled at Phil who was staring, he just knew it, making an ass out of himself, his mouth hanging open. 

“Excuse me," Phil sputtered, stepping back quickly to the next aisle. Flustered, he walked past the rows of nails and nuts and bolts; he was such an idiot, he berated himself. The guy had done nothing at all and here he was running away. He should have said hello, asked a question, done anything but beat a hasty retreat. Taking a deep breath, he gave himself a stern talking to and turned around, heading back, but by the time he got there, the guy was gone. 

“Hey, Professor Coulson!” Kate Bishop peered down the aisle. “Whatcha doing up this way?” 

Kate had been his student last semester, one of only 10 who enrolled in his medieval European history class. A solid B student, she’d been interested in the evolution of the bow and arrow; he’d only discovered she was on the University’s archery team when she turned in her final project. 

“I live in Jacksboro,” he told her. 

“You make the drive to Knoxville?” She shook her head. “That stretch of the interstate between Lake City and here is pretty nasty on a good day; I’d hate to do it all the time. I only come up because my coach is here and his outdoor range rocks.” 

“Just on Tuesdays and Thursdays,” Phil explained. “The other days I teach up in Harrogate and Corbin, Kentucky.” 

“Wow, Jellico Mountain? Or do you go through the Gap? Clint works up that way and I’ve been through …” 

“Tick tock, Katie-Kate,” an all too familiar voice called. “Let’s book.” 

Phil froze as a shiver ran down his spine. He knew the pitch and the tone, the humor-laced words. 

“I’m coming.” Kate scrunched up her nose and sighed. “Got to run. Nice to see you, Professor.” 

She was gone before Phil could pull himself together enough to step out; by then, the glass doorway that was swinging shut. He caught a glimpse of the gorgeous man, head tilted to one side as he laughed at Kate and nudged her shoulder. Rooted to the spot, Phil watched them get into an old Ford F-150 and back out. 

“So you know Kate?”

Phil jumped at Mack’s question; he hadn’t seen him come up behind him. 

“I had her in class.” He couldn’t take his eyes off the guy as they drove past, window down, and wind ruffling his hair. “Who’s …”

“Clint? Now he’s a fascinating character.” Mack chuckled. “Went to the Olympics, won a couple medals, gold from what I hear though he never talks about it. Does a lot of odd jobs ‘round these parts -- carpentry, repair, works at a radio station -- but spends his nights and weekends playing in a local cover band. More than decent at it; they’ve got a thriving wedding and party business.”

“He sings?” Phil could more than imagine that voice crooning a Frank Sinatra tune and, damn, that did it for him. “I mean, he looks like …”

“Yeah, it’s the arms, right? I might be taken but I know handsome when I see it. And he’s a good guy too; volunteers down at the no-kill animal refuge and runs free archery clinics for at-risk kids.” Mack turned knowing eyes on Phil. “Every time he’s in here, he’s bemoaning the fact he can’t find a nice guy.”

“Oh, ah,” Phil fumbled over his words, a blush staining his cheeks. 

“Hey, Phil, I think I can get this going for you,” Fitz said, coming out of the back. “Would probably be next week before it’s ready if that’s okay.”

“Of course.” Glad to be back on solid ground, Phil smiled at Fitz. “I’d greatly appreciate it.” 

“Will do!” Fitz replied. 

* * *

“It’s high noon here in Bell County and time for the local news.” 

Phil was idling at the second light in Middlesboro, running late, feeling frazzled, and Clint’s voice was the very thing he needed to let go of what was shaping up to be a terrible no-good bad day. 

The Trustee’s cousin at LMU wasn’t happy that they’d kept Phil on; turns out, Phil was more popular and well-liked than him. The Department Chair had wanted to apologize about cutting his classes for the spring, and Phil couldn’t find the gumption to walk away without listening even though it meant he’d miss his lunchtime. 

She was a decent sort, too easily run over by the administration, but that was academic life whether at NYU or a small rural private college. Phil didn’t blame her and, to be honest, he certainly wasn’t going to miss the 143 mile round trip to LMU then Corbin, KY, and back over Jellico mountain to get home. Still, it couldn’t hurt to be cordial just in case, and she’d promised more than once to call him if “things changed.” 

But, worst of all, after the first week of December, there’d be no more Clint Barton’s voice rolling out of his radio. No tongue-in-cheek descriptions or raspy breaths or cock-stirring vibrato.

“There was a shooting overnight out at the Owens’ place on Sherwood Road. According to Deputy Marlin, Lester, Lou Owens’ youngest, had words with their neighbor, Bob McCoy about McCoy’s prized pitbulls, Teeter and Totter. The argument became heated and Lou came out and joined his son. At some point, Bob went inside to get his pistol and then, according to the Deputy, ‘emptied the gun into Lou, almost killing him dead.’ Bob’s currently cooling off and sobering up in the Middlesboro jail while Lou was taken to Corbin Hospital where he is in stable condition.” 

The light turned green and Phil eased onto the gas, trying to keep a steady speed so he wouldn’t catch the third light which was timed to … 

It shifted to yellow and he had to stop, coming up next to an ancient 70s Pontiac Lemans. The wheel well was rusted and the white vinyl top was peeling off; all the windows were down and Phil could see three kids bouncing around, one of them climbing over the front bucket seat into the back to hit his brother. A woman was driving, her left elbow resting on the sill, a baby cradled in the crook, pink stocking cap pulled down, the little head almost out of the car. A lit cigarette was in her left fingers and a cell phone in her right. An accident waiting to happen, Phil thought, half determined to pull over and phone the police; not a single child safety seat could be seen and the oldest kid had to be no more than eight. 

“In other news, the Town Council wants to remind everyone of the upcoming Cumberland Mountain Fall Festival this weekend and ask you to remove your cars and trailers from the lots behind Sharp’s Cleaners and Mike’s Gun Shop so visitors have places to park. Mayor Kennedy says they’ve got eight new vendors and six new food stalls and, yes, Marge Meadows’ fried pie stand is back! Music starts at 4 pm on Thursday, so come on down!” 

As it turned out, Phil didn’t have to worry; before they got to the Dollar General store, a sheriff’s cruiser pulled up behind the Lemans and flashed its lights. The woman flicked the cigarette onto the road before she pulled over; he didn't need to read lips to know curses were flowing from her lips. 

Phil drove on, leaving the woman and her kids to the auspices of the local cops. He’d probably hear all about the outcome on Wednesday’s news. 

* * *

“So you tucked your tail between your legs and ran?” Maria asked, blowing on her coffee before she took a sip. “No wonder you haven’t been laid in … how long has it been? You left New York, three years ago; don’t tell me the dry spell’s been that long.” 

Phil stuffed a bite of apple cinnamon pancakes in his mouth and refused to answer on the grounds it would definitely incriminate him. He’d been too busy caring for his mom then dealing with the hospice workers. After, well, there were some lost months in there during the funeral and paperwork, and he hadn’t cleaned out the attic or the storage room yet. Hell, he was still sleeping in the guest room’s double bed with the old mattress that had a dip in the center, and sex hadn’t been on the top of his to-do list. 

“Okay, let’s see. You’ve got a name and some details.” Maria eyed him over the rim of her white porcelain cup. “Shouldn’t be hard to arrange an accidental meeting. I know someone who works at the rescue; if I can find out when he’s there …”

“This isn’t a military strike.” Sometimes Phil wondered why Maria had left the Army; she’d always struck him as a lifer. She’d been the platoon leader of her JROTC in high school and the best of Vanderbilt University’s ROTC rising officers. But she’d stepped out of active duty, opting for the reserves, and was now the Assistant Principal of Campbell County High School. “You can’t focus on my social life to replace the lack of yours.” 

“Ouch.” She snagged a sausage link from Phi’s plate with her fork. 

He didn’t complain; breakfast at the diner was Maria’s treat for Phil finally agreeing to sign on as a substitute. The school needed someone part-time to take the AP US and World History classes; the teacher was expecting her first baby in December. Phil wasn’t thrilled, but it would be a damn sight better paycheck than the night classes the local community college offered him even if they were a five-minute drive from his house in the local strip mall, three doors down from the Food City and the China Town Cafe. 

“Besides, he’s young and handsome and sings in a band, for God’s sake. What would he want with a washed-up old man like me?” That was the thing about old friends; he didn’t have to pretend to have it all together and be dealing with the shitstorm of his life. “I work constantly and all I’ve got to show is a crappy house and a boiler that’s mostly busted.” 

“Well, there’s Lola.” Maria nodded at the cherry red ‘vette parked outside the diner. “He might overlook a multitude of sins for her.” 

The one thing he had left from his life as a tenure-track professor at a major university, Lola was his baby; he only took her out once a week for a drive around Cove Lake. No way he’d risk her on the crappy roads he drove every day. 

“I’ll give you that point,” Phil conceded. “But, sue me, I kind of want someone to want me, not my car.” 

“Jesus, Phil, still melodramatic as ever.” Maria snorted. “What was that guy’s name, the one who broke your heart and you were never, ever, ever getting over? He was in your gen ed chemistry class …” 

“Fuck you,” Phil good-naturedly groused. “I was nineteen. I really thought Mickey was bisexual, not just a straight boy looking for a blow job.” 

“Yep, sounds like a real asshole.” Steve Rogers, owner of the fine establishment, paused by their table to top off their coffee mugs. “We’ve all got one of those in our past.” 

“Steve, tell Phil he’s a good catch and that he should go find the Voice and ask him out.” Maria flashed a toothy grin as Phil groaned. “Now that he’s got a name.” 

“Hey, Bucky!” Steve called over his shoulder. “The Voice has a name!”

A man’s head popped through the kitchen door, dark-haired pulled back in a loose bun and an apron tied around his waist. “What?”

“The guy,” Maria answered. “Name’s Barton. Phil saw him and is even hotter under the collar now.”

“Clint?” Bucky came over to the table. “Dumpster fire Clint Barton? That trouble magnet?”

“You know him?” Maria asked. “Well, that makes things easier. You can set them up!” 

“Oh God.” Phil put his head in his hands. “I have lost control.” 

“He’s not as bad as Bucky’s making out.” Steve tried to offer Phil some comfort. “Clint’s a good guy, really. Comes sometimes to Sunday night poker at my place, you know, the game we keep inviting you to but you’re always grading papers instead.” 

“Come to think of it, you’re kind of his type,” Bucky said. “Last person he dated was, what, two years ago, right, Stevie? A little bit older, really smart, a Ph.D. of some kind …” 

“Bruce? Does research down at UT, something about radiation sickness? They only went out like once or twice, more friends than anything else.” Steve looked thoughtful. “Works with Tony Stark, if I remember …” 

“Of course he remembers,” Bucky sotto voice whispered to Phil. “Steve’s got a man-crush on Stark, wants to get into those too-tight designer jeans of his.” 

“Shut it, Barnes.” Steve glared at his friend. “Don’t you have cooking to do?” 

“Steve and Tony sitting in a tree …” Bucky laughed as Steve whipped a dishtowel in his direction. “Hey, Maria, call me and I’ll give you Barton’s number.” 

Phil dropped his head on the table 

“Could be worse, Phil,” Steve said, patting his shoulder. “Clint’s best friend is Natasha, Buck’s girlfriend. If she was in town, she’d track you down and give you the shovel speech.” 

“Not helping, Rogers,” Phil told him. “Not helping.” 

* * *

  
  


“... should last for at least four months, so the longer you wait to turn it on, the better,” Fitz instructed as he packed the alternator motor into a box.

“Been thinking about using the fireplace to keep the living room warm.” Phil slipped his credit card back into his wallet and folded up the receipt. All and all, the cost wasn’t nearly as big a hit as he thought it would be. “One of my students at LMU will come cut up those fallen trees from those storms last month if I split the firewood.”

“Be sure and clean the flue,” Fitz said. “Creosote fires are a real danger, especially if the chimney’s been sitting idle for a while. Mack knows a guy … let me find his card … real honest-to-God chimney sweep … give me a second, I think it’s in the back …”

Thinking of the chimney sent Phil to look for a set of tools and a new screen and he found a whole aisle with a number of options. What caught his eye was a poker and shovel made of wrought iron with curled fleur-de-lis handles. He picked one up, tested the weight, and saw the tag that proclaimed it local-made; there was a medieval vibe to the curves and hammer-marked shaft. 

“Nice, aren’t they? My friend’s the artist; she’s super talented.” 

Phil gripped the poker as he turned to find blue-grey eyes looking at him. Today Clint was wearing the same jeans and boots but had an open purple flannel shirt over his grey tee. 

“Couldn’t help but overhear; if you’re looking for a complete set, she makes the coolest screens patterned after various cathedral’s gothic architecture. There’s at least two of ‘em in her workshop right now if you’re interested.” 

“I am. These are gorgeous but I might not be able to afford them,” he managed to reply.

“Nah, you’d get the friends and family discount, for sure. I mean, you know Steve and Bucky, right? She’s dating Bucky, so that makes you practically family. And you had Kate in class -- anybody who teaches about the evolution of the English longbow is okay with me.” 

“Kate,” Phil parroted.

“Kate Bishop. She’s my padawan.” He stopped. “A friend but not a girlfriend. I mean, I’m …”

“Her archery coach,” Phil injected. “I saw you. Last week. Here. With her. She said you have a range in your yard.” 

“Yeah, Nat’s been great, let me set up by her smithy while I’m crashing at her place. You should come out, see her stuff.” Clint took out his phone. “I could get your number, arrange it? Professor Coulson, right?”

“Phil. Call me Phil.” He took out his own and opened his contacts. “You’re Clint, Clint Barton.”

Clint smiled, lighting up his face. “Yep, that’s me. Hey, you drink coffee? Maybe we could grab a cup and I’ll give her a call, see what her schedule is.”

“I’d like that.” 

* * *

“It’s high noon in Bell County and time for the news!”

Rain pattered on Phil’s windshield, his wipers slapping back and forth to keep the glass clear. Beside him, a truck loaded with long untrimmed logs idled at the red light.

“In our top story, State Representative William DeWillis was indicted by a grand jury this morning for misappropriation of campaign funds. According to District Attorney Maynard Thompson, DeWillis bought a Dodge Ram Laramie Longhorn, a set of golf clubs, and paid for several weekend trips to Disney World in Orlando, Florida with PAC monies. Representative DeWillis claimed the expenses were necessary to keep both his wife Mamie and his girlfriend Dolly happy while he worked long hours passing the new solar energy bill that will bring jobs to the area.” 

Phil pressed on the gas pedal, easing ahead of the truck; despite the miserable conditions, he smiled, Clint’s voice seeming to reach through the radio. This thing between them was still so new and tentative; they were taking it slow, getting to know one another, and maybe easing their way into something more. But there was a blossom of warmth in Phil’s chest that pushed back his worry about weather and traffic and stack of ungraded papers in his briefcase, and he was pretty sure he was already in deep. 

“This weekend is the Christmas Arts & Crafts Fair at the Middle School; head on over, pick up some presents, and support our local craftspeople today, Saturday and Sunday. Only three weeks until the 25th, folks!”

He’d helped Natasha load up her truck yesterday with everything from fireplace screens to bird feeder hanging posts so she could set up her stall. Thankfully, Bucky and Steve had lifted the heavy gate section onto the bed, or Phil’s back would be aching even more. Steve’s artwork was easier to box up in plastic bins; Phil had been surprised to find out he was the one who’d painted the lovely abstracts that hung on the diner walls. Steve and Natasha were caravaning together, trying to time their arrival after the last band of rain. Phil planned to drive back to Middlesboro after his second history class to have dinner with them since his night classes were on Monday and Wednesday. 

“And, finally, we’re losing a long-time listener of this broadcast, a crazy person who’s been making a 150-mile round trip, three days a week, to teach classes for the people of Bell, Knox, and Whitley Counties. Here’s wishing you don’t get caught behind a tractor or a loaded truck or Elizabeth Darnell driving 20 miles per hour on your last day crossing the mountain. Celebratory pancakes are on me tomorrow!” 

The third light was green; Phil didn’t have to slow down as he passed the Dollar General and made his way out of town. The road was clear before him as it went down to two lanes and started up the incline, but, for once, it didn’t matter who was in front of him. His life was changing and, maybe, just maybe, that was a good thing. 

* * *

“I can’t believe what you’ve done with the place.” Jasper raised his bottle in salute before finishing off the beer in one last swallow. “Honestly thought you’d jump at the chance to put it on the market as soon as the ink was dry on your contract.” 

Phil dug another craft brew from the metal bucket filled with ice and passed it over, taking Jasper’s empty and tossing it into the recycle bin. The backyard was filled to bursting with friends and family. Ostensibly a party to celebrate his full-time tenure-track Associate Professor position at the University of Tennessee, it had turned into much more than that. 

Maria had brought her new girlfriend, a retired Air Force pilot who’d just moved back to the area. Mack and Leo were still basking in their newly minted engagement. Tony and Steve had snuck around the side of the house with plates full of Bucky’s potato salad and BBQ chicken thirty minutes ago. Kate Bishop had brought some friends, two of whom Phil recognized as fellow UT students Teddy Altman and Billy Kaplan; they’d contributed a sushi platter from Jai Dee and egg rolls from Dynasty Express. Melinda and her husband Andrew, a psychology professor, were chatting with Victoria Hand, one of the big-name researchers in management theory and the maker of a mean chocolate chip cookie, the tub full of which were disappearing at an alarming rate. 

“Yeah, so did I, Jas. But things change.” 

Across the yard, Clint was laughing at something Bucky had said, doing that little nose wrinkle and half-snort, half-inhale that Phil found adorable. Their eyes met, and Phil smiled at him, his heart doing a little leap in his chest when Clint winked. 

Clint had moved in officially three weeks ago, but he’d spent so many nights in Phil’s bed that he’d been practically here already. Within three months, they’d been inseparable, so damn compatible that sometimes Phil wondered if it was real or a dream. With Clint’s handyman skills, they’d started working on the place, one project at a time. Funny how much more affordable things were when they were doing a lot of the work themselves. Steve and Bucky turned out to be great at tearing down walls and hauling heavy pallets of roofing tiles -- fixing the leaks was more than worth the amount of pizza those two could put away. When Steve had started dating Tony Stark in February, all it took was one visit and Stark was elbows deep in the boiler, making it more efficient to keep the place cozy all winter. And Phil certainly wasn’t above taking the “friend of a friend of a friend” super discounted price for a new one when Tony gave him the name of a good firm. 

“That they do, my friend.” Jasper patted Phil on the back. “It’s good to see you happy again. You deserve it.” 

“Jas, Victoria’s never heard the story about that time at the AHA when Garrett got drunk,” Melinda called. “You tell it better than I do.”

“Duty calls,” Jasper said to Phil. “Never let it be said I turned down a chance to air Garrett’s dirty laundry.” 

Phil was still laughing when Clint stepped up next to him and slipped his arm around Phil’s waist. “You’re having fun.” 

“That’s a nice way to say you told me so.” Phil had worried, he always worried, but Clint had a knack for making him believe he deserved good things. “We have to do this again.”

“Yep.” Clint dropped a kiss on Phil’s cheek. “And there’s still the after-party, when everyone goes home and we’re tired but feeling good and I get to take you to bed and take you apart, Dr. Coulson.” 

The breath left his chest and a rush of heat ran through him as that voice whispered in his ear. 

“Will you sing to me?” he asked.

“Steve brought the karaoke machine; we’ll consider that foreplay,” Clint answered. “Assuming we can drag him away from Tony long enough to set it up.”

“Bucky’s already got it plugged up.” Natasha appeared beside them. “But, please, no drunk renditions of ‘I want your sex’.” 

“Nah, Phil’s too classy for that; I know the perfect song,” Clint said with a smirk. 

“You do?” Phil asked, knowing he was encouraging him. 

“Don’t much about history, don’t know much biology, don’t know much about a science book, don’t know much about the French I took,” Clint began to sing. “But I do know that I love you and I know that if you love me too, what a wonderful world this would be.” 

Everyone else melted away in the blue-grey of Clint’s eyes and the emotion written plain in their depths. 

“I love you too,” Phil replied.

**Author's Note:**

> Aside from Mack's Hardware and Steve's Diner, the rest of the places in this story are real and located in the states of Tennessee and Kentucky. So, too are the universities/colleges mentioned along with the other restaurants. 
> 
> The news stories are taken from real-life ones broadcast from a local Middlesboro, KY AM station a number of years ago. The names have been changed to protect the innocent and not so innocent. The Festivals and Fairs are all real as well and the story of the woman in the car actually happened.


End file.
